Bring Up the Bodies
by lilbluedancer
Summary: Lydia has the banshee drill down cold: zone out, wander off, find a body, call Stiles. Except this time there is no body, just mud and trees, dirt under her fingernails, and a strange ache between her legs.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:While there is no written graphic description, this story deals with the aftermath of sexual assault. If you are sensitive or easy triggered (both of which are TOTALLY OKAY, btw) please read with caution or consider skipping this altogether.**

When she wakes up, her first thought is, _where's the body?_

Because by now Lydia has the banshee drill down cold-zone out, wander off, find a body, call Stiles.

Except there is no body.

There's just mud and trees, dirt under her fingernails, a strange ache between her legs. What the hell?

Lydia jumps when a muffled ring blares through the woods. Her phone, zipped into the pocket in the skirt in the red dress she wore to Jungle with Danny.

"Are you okay?" Stiles voice is frantic through the speaker.

"Yeah, I'm in-"

"The woods, I know. Danny hacked your phone when you didn't come back."

Her stomach drops. "Come back from where?"

"Um...Danny said you went off with some guy."

Lydia shivers, pulling herself up on her feet. "I don't...remember that."

There's a pause. Lydia can hear Scott's voice in the distance. "Lydia, just stay where you are, okay? We're coming to get you."

"Okay." She wraps her arms around herself, goosebumps rising on her skin.

Maybe she doesn't want to know what happened.

xxx

It's so much like the first time he found Lydia in the woods, it's almost scary. There she stands, arms wrapped around her chest like she's trying to cover herself up, freezing in a little red dress.

This time Stiles doesn't fall on his face when he takes his jacket off to give her. Lydia's still on a pedestal but after two years of genuine, don't you dare die on me friendship, it's moved a little lower to the ground.

Lydia flinches at his touch, shifting away from him. There's something wrong with her eyes, a flatness in her expression that makes a chill run up his spine.

"Lydia-"

"I'm fine, Stiles."

"You're not fine, you're freezing and your knees are bleeding."

Lydia looks down at her legs in surprise, watching blood roll down her shins.

"Where is it?" Stiles is twitching in the dark, eyes scanning the woods.

"Where's what?"

"The body."

She shakes her head. "There isn't one."

He stares at her, confusion swirling in his head. "Then what are you doing here?"

She curls her fingers around the warm weight of his jacket. "I don't know."

"You don't _know_?" There's something in the pit of his stomach, something that makes him swallow back bile.

Lydia shakes her head, skin glowing in the moonlight. "I can't remember."

xxx

Scott almost throws up from the smell when Lydia gets in the car. He has to crack a window as Stiles swings the jeep back on the road to drive towards Lydia's house.

Her chemo-signals are a tangled mess of feelings. Fear, panic, confusion. But it's the two smells layered over them, permeating the air in the car, that make him feel sick.

The bitter tang of iron and salt, a smell he'll forever associate with Allison, and death. And something thicker, musky and sharp.

Blood. And sex.

xxx

Scott knows something. Lydia doesn't know what, but she sees the way his nose twitches in disgust. Like she smells bad. His eyes won't meet hers in the review mirror when she whispers his name.

Lydia presses her cheek against the cool glass of the window and pretends she doesn't see the streak of blood on the inside of her thigh.

xxx

"My mother's out of town," Lydia explains to Stiles when she gets out of the car, pointing at the dark windows of her house. "You guys can come in."

Stiles follows her into the house, Scott trailing behind, strangely distant. Lydia stops short in the living room like she's unsure of what to do now that they're inside. She looks small, like she's trying to take up as little space as possible.

When Stiles reaches for her she pulls away, sits down on the couch instead.

"We should clean up her legs," Scott mutters, looking everywhere but Lydia.

"There's a first aid kit in the bathroom," she murmurs, curling up in a ball.

Her skirt rides up and Stiles squints at the dark smear of blood on her thigh. "Lydia-"

Her hands are already tugging down the skirt. "I'm fine."

Scott makes a sound in the back of his throat, looking resolutely at the wall. Unease coils in Stiles' gut. "Scott."

"Get the first aid kit," Scott says quietly.

"Um...okay." Normally this is when Stiles would go on a rant about not being Scotty's lapdog but Lydia is bleeding and she and Scott are both so _quiet_. He has that feeling, that bad, something is wrong feeling, even if he doesn't know what's wrong.

Why does he feel like Scott does?

He finds it under the bathroom sink, brings antiseptic wipes and bandages back out to the living room.

Scott's still doing his living zombie impression while Lydia hugs a pillow tightly to her chest. Stiles sits on the couch next to Lydia and reaches for her leg, making her jump.

"Hey," he says quietly, because he's never seen her like this. Scared, sure, terrified too, but this is different.

She looks like a wild animal, wide eyed and untrusting. Like she expects him to hurt her.

"I need to clean you up, okay?" he whispers.

Lydia nods slowly, and lets him pull her legs into his lap. He dabs the cuts on her knees with an alcohol wipe and Lydia hisses in pain.

"Sorry, sorry," he murmurs, guilt rising in him like a wave.

"It hurts," she complains, her fingers clutching the pillow.

Stiles waits for Scott to jump in, offer his magical pain reducing powers, but he's still halfway across the room, looking nauseous.

"I know it hurts," Stiles says, throwing the blood soaked cloth in the trash can. "You're doing great, almost done."

He tapes bandages over both of her skinned knees, catching her by the ankle when she tries to pull away.

"Lydia, there's blood on your thigh," he reminds her.

Lydia goes pale. "It's fine."

"Lydia, I saw it," he says in exasperation. "Scotty, want to help me out here?"

Scott looks at Lydia for the first time, and she cowers, bending her head down. "Please," she whispers brokenly. "Don't tell him."

"Tell me what?" Stiles asks in confusion.

Scott winces. "You can't pretend it didn't happen."

"I don't remember anything," she shoots back. "I can't tell him what I don't know."

"Lydia."

"Guys, what's happening?" Stiles' chest feels tight, like he might have a panic attack.

"Ask Scott," Lydia snarls.

"Ask Scott what?"

"Tell him," she says to Scott, who looks like he's about to cry. "I know you smell something, I know you know what happened."

"Lydia," Scott whispers, shuffling forward. "Just because I smell it, it doesn't mean that's what happened. If you don't remember then maybe..."

She shifts, the skirt riding up to reveal thighs crusted with dry blood.

"Oh, God," Stiles groans, feeling sick. "Oh Lydia."

"Just say it," Lydia says, like she needs to hear it, _needs_ Scott to say it. "What do you smell, Scott?"

Scott sniffs, his eyes welling up. "I'm sorry, Lydia."

She ducks her head, like she can't bring herself to look at him. "Just say it, Scott."

Scott rubs his eyes, looking at Stiles, like he's begging him not to freak out.

"Scott," Stiles whispers. "What does she smell like?"

Lydia's shaking, her eyes shut in pain, like she already knows the answer. Stiles thinks he knows it too, but he doesn't want to, refuses to until he hears Scott say it.

"Sex," Scott says hoarsely. "She smells like sex."

xxx

"I don't remember anything," she whispers, like that matters, like that means it doesn't count.

"I'm sorry, Lydia." Scott looks guilty, like its his fault she-what? Blacked out? Was attacked?

What the hell happened to her?

Stiles looks panicked. "But if you don't remember...we don't know what happened, we don't know for sure that anything happened-"

"Stiles-

"She was at the Jungle for Christ sakes, it's like a freaking cesspool of sexual fluids-"

"Stiles is right," she interrupts. "We don't know anything for sure if I don't remember."

She looks meaningfully at Scott, who recoils. "No way!"

"Scott-"

"I'm not doing that to you. Not after Theo..." Scott trails off, looking sick.

Lydia turns to Stiles, his hands clenched into fists and no one to punch. "Stiles, tell him he has to do it!"

Stiles blanches, head twisting rapidly between her and Scott. "I...I...I don't like being put on the spot like this! Scott, Lydia wants to know what happened, and you're the only one who can help her with that, which you should consider. Lydia, Scott doesn't want to stick his claws in your neck because the last person who did that Theo, and he's afraid he's going to, like, re-traumatize you. Is that helpful?"

Scott steps up until he's a foot away from her. "Lydia, are you sure?"

She glances sideways at Stiles, who looks pale and worried. He holds his hand out to her, nodding gently. She reaches out and grips his fingers, lets the warmth of his palm sink into her skin.

"Yes. I'm sure."

xxx

It never stops being creepy, Stiles thinks, watching Scott stand behind Lydia with his claws in the back of her neck, their faces slack.

Stiles watches nervously, chewing at his bottom lip, trying his very best not to be sick at the idea of watching some do that to Lydia, goddess of Beacon Hills and his own personal light source.

Stiles knows the moment they get the memory, because Scott _roars_ and Lydia vaults off couch and runs to the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

Scott's half transformed, his hands curled into fists, breathing heavily.

"Scott," Stiles says shakily. "Just calm down buddy, okay. You can't wolf out right now, Lydia needs us."

Scott shifts all the way back and just kind of crumples, his hand clutching his chest

"Scott?" Stiles asks, eying the bathroom door nervously.

Scott shakes his head, his eyes clenched tight, and Stiles feels his chest contract. "You saw it? What happened?"

Tears slip past Scott's closed eyelids. "You should go check on her."

When Stiles checks bathroom door is locked.

"Lydia," Stiles calls out, knocking on the door. "Lydia, open the door."

Nothing happens.

"Lydia if you don't unlock the door Scott's going to have to break it down. I don't think you want to have to explain that to your mom."

There's a small click and the door gives way. Lydia's huddled on the lid of the toilet seat, a blank stare in her eye.

He doesn't know what to do, or what to say. He's fighting every instinct in his body telling him to pick her up and hold her to his chest, because Lydia looks like she might freak out if anyone touches her.

He ends up kneeling in front of her on the floor. She blinks rapidly, adjusting her gaze so he can't look her in the eye.

"We saw it," she says flatly.

Stiles swallows back the lump in his throat. "I know."

"Scott's upset," she whispers, picking at the hem of her dress. "I heard him screaming. In my head."

"Don't worry about Scott, okay? We're worrying about you right now." Stiles' eyes burn and he blinks back tears.

He can't cry right now. He has to be strong, for Lydia.

Scott shows up in the doorway. "I talked to my mom," he says thickly. "She's getting a room set up."

Lydia recoils, curling up in a ball. "What?"

"Lydia," Stiles says gently. "We have to take you to the hospital."

She suddenly launches herself at Stiles, who catches her and somehow manages not to fall over when she crashes into his chest.

"Please," Lydia whispers fiercely, her arms winding around his neck. "Please don't make me go."

"I have to, Lydia," Stiles says, his voice breaking. "You're hurt."

Lydia starts to cry into his shoulder and Stiles holds her tightly, one hand smoothing her hair.

"I'm sorry," he says, in a choked whisper. "I'm so sorry, Lydia."

"Everyone's going to know," she whimpers. "I can't look at your dad and tell him-tell him-"

"I'll tell him." Scott's voice is clear and firm. "You don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to, but you have to let my mom and the doctor look at you."

They convince Lydia to get up and she latches onto Stiles, turning into him so she can cry into his chest. Stiles throws Scott the keys to the jeep so he can get in the back with Lydia, who's making little pitiful whimpers that crack his heart into a thousand pieces.

"It's okay," he says softly, like he's trying to soothe a child. "It's going to be okay."

When he catches Scott's eyes in the review mirror Stiles feels like a liar.

xxx

Scott grips the steering wheel, replaying the memory over in his mind as he drives to the hospital.

Hearing the man's words, the ones he whispered to Lydia, beautiful, bleeding, half conscious Lydia, as he pushed up the skirt of her dress.

 _I want you to give your alpha a message for me._

Lydia's broken scream before she passes out, and then, softly, whispered in her ear like a lover's prayer.

 _You're the message._

xxx


	2. Chapter 2

Lydia stops crying by the time they get to the hospital. When Stiles helps her out of the car she grips his arm so hard her fingers turn white and he remembers Lydia on his bed, a red string twisted around her fingertips.

He has to guide her where to walk, one hand firm on the small of her back and the other gripping her shoulder. It's like she's lost command of her body, allowing him to move her like a puppet. She looks like she's sleepwalking.

"She's in shock," Scott mutters beside them, watching Lydia's eyes slide in and out of focus.

Melissa is waiting for them outside an exam room on the third floor. She frowns and reaches towards Lydia, who stumbles back into Stiles, gripping his shirt.

"Oh sweetheart," Melissa murmurs. She comes up to Lydia slowly, her hands held up in the air. "It's okay. We just need to do a little exam to make sure you're not hurt, alright?"

Lydia nods mechanically, her grip loosening on his shirt. She turns her head to look searchingly at Stiles, like she's asking him a question he doesn't know the answer to.

Stiles leans down to press his forehead to hers. "Do you want me to go in with you?"

Lydia shakes her head and gives him her bravest tremulous smile, the same one she gave him when he found her bleeding out on the floor with Kira's hands pressed over her stomach.

"I can do it," she whispers, nodding determinedly.

"I know you can." He cups her face and Lydia sighs, her eyes drifting shut.

"I'd say don't go anywhere," she whispers, "but previous experience tells me I don't have to worry about that."

Stiles kisses her forehead. "Never."

xxx

Scott sits in a hard plastic chair next to Stiles down the hallway from Lydia's exam room. He sits and thinks about Allison, thinks about how he failed her.

 _We protect those who cannot protect themselves._

He couldn't protect Allison, and he couldn't protect Lydia.

Stiles is shaking, fingers tapping nervously on the arm of his chair, looking down the hall towards Lydia's room.

Scott is thinking _murder_ , he's thinking of the satisfaction snapping that man's neck would bring bring him. He's thinking _revenge._

"Thinking of revising our no-kill policy?" Stiles asks knowingly.

Scott growls and curls his hands around the arms of the chair. "Yeah."

Stiles nods and runs a hand through his hair. "I was thinking castration, personally. Make it poetic."

"Points for creativity," Scott agrees.

"Hey Scott? Did you see who did it?"

Scott shakes his head. "Something was wrong with the memory. I couldn't see it clearly."

Stiles frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It was almost like the memory had been damaged," Scott explains. "I saw it from Lydia's point of view, and everything was like...blurred out. I couldn't make out anyone's face."

"Maybe she was drugged."

Scott scuffs the floor with his shoe. "I really wish Allison was here right now," he admits.

Stiles is still looking in the direction of Lydia's exam room. "It's decided then. Castration by arrow. Allison would be proud."

Scott doesn't tell Stiles about what the man said to Lydia. It's not that he's trying to keep it a secret.

He just can't.

xxx

The tiles on the ceiling are a mind-numbing white. There are fourteen tiles by sixteen tiles. Fourteen times sixteen equals two hundred twenty-four tiles.

Lydia multiplies and divides the numbers in her head, over and over.

She doesn't think in words, or images. She can't. She only thinks in numbers, the elegant way they fold into each other, perfection in each equation.

The cold comfort of a number is that its value always remains the same, as does the rules. In a world of chaos, mathematics is divine order.

Everyone is very gentle with her. The doctor explains everything she's doing and her touch is light. She's treated like a fragile piece of glass, like the slightest touch might break her.

It really doesn't matter. She can't feel anything, anyway.

xxx

Lydia comes out of the room looking worse then when she went in. She's very pale and when Stiles puts his arms around her she stiffens up and won't hug him back.

Melissa hands a bag of prescription bottles to Scott that Stiles assumes are for Lydia. "Are you sleeping at home tonight?"

Scott glances over Lydia's head at Stiles. "Lydia's mom is out of town."

Melissa nods in understanding and kisses the side of Scott's head. "Okay. Call me if you need anything. Lydia?"

Lydia startles in his arms, turns halfway to face Melissa. "Yes?" Her voice sounds full of tears even though her eyes are dry.

"Do you need me to go over your medication before you go?"

Lydia shakes her head slightly. "I understand."

Melissa gives her a tired smile and pats her shoulder. "Okay, sweetie. Call me if you have any questions."

Lydia nods and presses her cheek against Stiles' chest. "Thanks you," she whispers.

"Come on," Stiles murmurs, pressing his hand against the smooth expanse of skin between Lydia's shoulder blades. Her skin is cold to the touch. "Let's go home."

xxx

Scott and Stiles don't even ask her if they can sleep over, it's just implied. They swing by Stiles' house and pick up sweatpants for him and Scott before going back to her house.

It stings a little, a reminder of how she and Allison used to be, trading tops and headbands, like they were siblings.

Scott stays in the car while Stiles runs inside to get his stuff. Lydia presses herself up against the door, leans her cheek on the cool glass window. She knows Scott's upset; if she was a werewolf she'd probably be drowning in the scent of his guilt.

Scott still won't look at her.

When Stiles comes outside, backpack slung casually over his shoulder, he gets in the backseat with her, and gives her a smile that makes her want to cry.

"Almost home," he says softly, like he can feel how tired she is, how much she wants to crawl into bed and never get up.

She stumbles into her house as soon as Scott gets the jeep in park, Scott and Stiles rushing to flank her on either side like bodyguards. She feels dirty, unclean, the recovered memory crawling under her skin like it's alive.

"I want to take a shower," she whispers to Stiles, and he follows her dutifully up to her room.

"Can you unzip me?" she asks, and turns around for him.

Stiles hands are warm and gentle on her back. He's careful with the zipper, his free hand on her hip, anchoring him to her. It's the only thing keeping her here, his steady touch, his warmth burning through the ice coating her skin.

Lydia steps out of her dress, leaning against Stiles as she kicks off her shoes.

"Lydia," he murmurs, one hand on her shoulder.

"I'm fine Stiles, I just want to take a shower."

"Lydia, you're not _fine_."

She walks to the bathroom, refusing to face him, because she can't see it, can't see the evidence of what happened to her all over his face.

"I know that," she whispers, and slams the bathroom door shut.

xxx

Scott waits until Lydia's in the bathroom to follow Stiles into her bedroom.

"Here," he says, handing the bag of pills to Stiles. "I think she has to take these when she's out."

Stiles nods, taking the bottles out and lining them up on her nightstand. "You're staying too, right?"

"Yeah, of course, but I need to do something first." Scott eyes Lydia's dress from across the room. "Think she'll notice if I take that?"

Stiles shrugs. "If I was her I'd never want to see it again."

Scott takes that as permission and picks up the dress from where Lydia left it on the floor. He rubs the silky fabric across his nose, trying to dig past the scent of blood and Lydia.

"Are you gonna..." Stiles waves a hand at the dress.

"Yeah, I was thinking I'd call Derek. Maybe go back to where we found her, see if we can work backwards."

Stiles' head jerks in agreement, his hands twisting in his lap. "This is bad, Scott."

"I know." More than Stiles does, he thinks, remembering Lydia's terrified scream from when he was in her head.

"It's like...no matter what we do, she always gets hurt. She always gets hurt and I don't know how to stop it!"

Scott sighs heavily. "Maybe we can't stop it."

Stiles groans quietly and flops back on Lydia's bed. "Then what do we do?"

Scott stares at the picture Lydia has stuck under the edge of her vanity mirror. It's her and Allison, sitting on the bleachers, probably at a lacrosse game. Their arms are looped around each other, cheeks pressed together.

"We be there for her," Scott says quietly, reaching out to trace Allison's face. "It's the only thing we can do."

xxx

She cries in the shower, under the spray to protect herself from prying werewolf ears. Lydia turns the water as hot as she can stand it, scrubs her skin until it turns pink and raw.

She runs a hand over her scars, the faded white points from Peter Hale's teeth and the thin line across her stomach from her surgery after Tracy cut her open.

This time her scar is on the inside. How will anyone know that she's hurt if they can't see it?

Once upon a time Lydia wasn't afraid of anything. She ruled with an iron fist and a cruel smile, kept her heart and her brain carefully locked away where no one could touch.

Oh they'd be sorry, all those peons who underestimated her, just because she wore heels to class and pretended not to understand how cosigns worked.

That was before Peter Hale tore her open with his teeth, before she saw monsters everywhere.

"Lydia!" Stiles, banging on the bathroom door. "Lydia, you've been in there for twenty minutes, are you okay?"

She turns the water off reluctantly. Of course Stiles won't let her hide in the bathroom forever.

He's the one person she's never been able to hide from. Stupid Stiles Stilinksi, who loved her before she deigned to acknowledge his existence.

Stiles, the boy who always has a plan, whose only weapons are his brain and a baseball bat.

The boy who was always there for her, before she even knew she needed it. Needed him.

"Almost done," she calls out softly, stepping out of the shower on shaky legs. She leans out to balance one hand on the wall as she grabs a towel, like that will make the room stop spinning.

The thing about monsters is even when you kill them they never really go away. They wait, in the darkness, until you think you're safe, until you think you're finally alone.

And then they strike.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I don't own Teen Wolf or its characters. Please review ;)**

Stiles wakes up in the middle of the night to Lydia jumping out of bed and running into the bathroom.

"Lydia?" he calls out softly, and is answered by the sound of her retching. She's huddled over the toilet, her hair damp with sweat. She's wearing a thin tee shirt and black panties, and looks utterly vulnerable.

They'd gotten in bed after she got out of the shower. He'd given her an antibiotic to protect her from catching an STI, and a light tranquilizer to help her relax, from the bottle with a label prescribed to Lydia Martin, take as needed.

She'd fallen asleep almost instantly, while he had laid there, watching her, cataloging all the ways she seemed broken and planning how to fix them.

He takes a pink plastic cup from the bathroom counter and fills it with water for her. She reaches out with one hand to sip, swishes it around in her mouth before spitting into the toilet and flushing.

Stiles picks up the bottle of antibiotics the doctor prescribed for her on the counter and reads the label. "I think you were supposed to take this with food."

Lydia moans and sits back on her heels, her face in her hands. He holds a washcloth under cold water but when he gets down on his knees in front of her she turns away, arms blocking her face.

"Don't look at me, I'm all gross," she whines.

"You're not gross."

"I am!" she wails. She might be crying again. "I'm disgusting."

"Lydia-"

"If you tell me I look beautiful even when I throw up I swear to god Stilinksi-"

"You look beautiful all the time, now let me clean you up."

"Fine," Lydia huffs, but she lets him wipe off the stray tears and traces of vomit around her mouth.

"See, still beautiful," he says, even though her skin is all blotchy and there are circles under her eyes.

"Sorry," she mumbles, picking at the edge of the band-aid on her knee. "I'm not good at letting other people take care of me."

"Its okay." He throws the washcloth into her hamper and pulls her off the floor. "Come on, let's get back in bed."

"Stiles..." He's not wearing a shirt and Lydia's hands are cold when she reaches out to grip his hips.

"Yeah?"

She shakes her head, hair flying around her face. "Never mind."

xxx

Something is wrong with her. She's warm, under the covers with Stiles lying on his side six inches away from her, radiating heat, but she's _shaking_.

She tries to rationalize the fear. She's locked in her house, with Stiles, who, okay, may not be an ideal bodyguard, but it's _her_ , and _Stiles_. They always keep each other safe.

She tries to fight it, tries to force her limbs to relax, to get her racing heart to slow. The more Lydia resists the worst it gets. It makes her feel weak, out of control.

Lydia hates feeling out of control.

"Hey," Stiles murmurs, watching her with those liquid whiskey eyes. "What's going on?"

She shakes her head and grips the sheets. Tries to breathe but her chest is getting tight and she's shaking so much her teeth chatter.

He looks worried. "Lydia, talk to me."

She lets out a panicky little gasp. "It won't-stop. I can't make it stop, Stiles, it won't stop."

He moves toward her in the dark, slides an arm under her shoulder to pull her body close to his. He's shirtless and she can feel taut muscle under smooth skin. She buries her face in his neck, trying to just breathe.

"It's okay," he's whispering. "You're okay, I got you."

She's not okay. She feels anchor-less, like she's lost something essential keeping her held together. Like she could fall right off the earth. Her heart pounds in her ears and she gasps, tries to get air into her constricting lungs.

"Lydia!" he says sharply. "Hold on to me, okay? Just hold on to me."

She doesn't think twice, just loops her arms around his waist and clutches onto him. Stiles has one hand splayed across her lower back, holding her tight against him, and the other curved around the back of her neck.

"I read something once," he whispers, low and familiar in her ear. "About animals in the wild. When they go through a trauma they literally shake it off."

Lydia sniffs. "What do you mean?"

His thumb soothes across her skin. "Trauma is recorded in two ways."

"A trauma memory."

"Yeah," Stiles agrees. "Because people are usually only thinking with their reptilian brain during a trauma-"

"Because you go into flight or flight," she whispers back. "It's instinctual."

"Ergo, trauma memory. But it gets recorded in another way, too. Cellular memory. The body literally stores the memory in your body. An animal will shake until the body releases the energetic imprint of said trauma. It's a survival instinct."

She pulls back a little so she can look at him. "But I'm not an animal."

His hand moves from her neck to wipe off the tears clinging to her eyelashes. "You're not just a girl either."

She tilts her head back, trying to keep more tears from spilling over. "Sometimes I wish I was."

"Hey." His hand cups her cheek and then the tears do spill over. It gets her every time, how he manages to stay calm when she's upset, how tender he can be.

It scares her. It makes her feel things she doesn't think she can handle. Stiles isn't the kind of guy she could go halfway with.

"Lydia," he says, his voiced tinged with pain. "I can't make this go away for you. You have no idea how much I wish I could, but I can't. So you have to tell me what you need, okay? Just tell me what you need, Lydia, I'll do anything, anything, I swear to god, just don't do _that_. Don't pretend like you are anything other than who you are."

She blinks at him. "Who am I, Stiles?"

He gives her a crooked smile. "You're the spectacular, magnificent, _special_ , Lydia Martin, and I love you just the way you are."

Lydia splays her palm against his chest and closes her eyes. She doesn't know what good deed she did in a previous life to deserve the weird, goofy, insanely loyal and prolific Stiles Stilinksi.

(She still hasn't forgiven him for that _because I think you look really beautiful when you cry_ line. How dare he say that to her and make her question everything she ever wanted in a guy?).

She peeks up at him through her eyelashes, her hand firm against his heart. "Do you still feel it?"

His expression darkens. "Yeah, sometimes."

She swallows the lump in her throat. "What do you do?"

His thumb runs across her cheekbone. "When it hurts?"

"Yeah."

"I look at you. And then it doesn't hurt so much."

xxx

Scott spends three hours out in the woods running in circles with Derek, trying to pick up a scent.

They don't get it. They hit the edge of the woods and then it just _stops_.

"What do you think?" Derek asks pensively. "A spell?"

Scott rubs his eyes. "You think that's possible?"

Derek shrugs. "A cloaking spell? Probably."

Scott kicks a rock halfheartedly. This is exactly what he didn't want, having to go back to Lydia with nothing.

"This wasn't a random assault," Derek assesses. "Someone covered their tracks."

"Great," Scott deadpans.

"It doesn't make sense," Derek sighs. "If they went after her because she was a banshee they wouldn't have left her, they would have taken her. What was the point? She didn't even find a body."

"Maybe it wasn't about her," Scott suggests quietly.

Derek looks at him sharply. "You think this was about you?"

Scott stares down at his feet. "I think they left her for a reason."

He drives back to Lydia's house while the sun begins to rise. He parks his bike in her driveway and stretches out on the front steps, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket.

Kira answers on the second ring.

"Hey," he says softly. "Sorry for waking you up."

"That's okay," she murmurs. "What's wrong?"

"Everything's okay."

"Scott, you're calling me before ten on a Saturday, something's wrong."

He sighs heavily. "Something happened to Lydia."

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah...no...she got hurt last night but she'll be okay."

"What happened?" Kira asks.

"Um...someone attacked her last night. We don't know who it was."

"That's awful! Why would someone attack Lydia?"

"I don't know," he lies.

"Scott, are you sure she's okay? You sound upset."

"Yeah, everyone's just a little shaken up, that's all. Stiles and I are gonna hang out at her house this weekend, I think. Her mom's out of town."

"That's a good idea. Lydia's so lucky to have you guys."

 _Yeah_ , Scott thinks, clenching his jaw. _So lucky_.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I don't own Teen Wolf or its characters**

Kira shows up on Lydia's doorstep at nine on the dot, a big paper bag under one arm.

Lydia and Stiles had been sitting silently in the kitchen drinking coffee when the doorbell rang and they'd both startled, looking at each other in confusion. When they walk through the living room to get the door she sees Scott fast asleep, facedown on her couch.

"Was he up all night?" she whispers to Stiles.

He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "He went out for a few hours."

"Why?"

Stiles gives her a look and her stomach turns to ice. "Oh."

"Hi!" Kira says brightly when they open the door, holding up the bag, the logo from Beacon Hills bagels imprinted in black ink. "I brought breakfast."

Lydia stares at her, at Kira's perfect cat eyeliner and maroon nail polish. Scott must have called her.

"Um..." Kira shifts her feet. "Scott said you weren't feeling well so I thought I'd swing by, but if it's a bad time..."

"No, of course not," Stiles jumps in when Lydia doesn't say anything. "You brought food, of course you can come in, we love food, don't we Lydia?"

She swallows, resisting the urge to punch him in the stomach. "Oh yes," she says, giving Kira a smile that comes off like a grimace, if the expression on Kira's face is any indication. "We love food."

xxx

Stiles comes up with the bright idea to have a movie marathon, because Scott's still half asleep on the couch and Lydia looks like she wants to escape and hide in her room.

So Kira spread out bagels on the Martin's expensive glass coffee table while Stiles peruses Lydia's movie collection. Lydia brings down a bunch of pillows and blankets from the guest room and they all sprawl out on the floor.

Well, Stiles sprawls. Kira sits gracefully in half lotus while Lydia curls up in the fetal position under the table.

"Hey," Stiles murmurs, ducking his head down to look at her. "How're you doing?"

"I feel like shit," she says flatly.

"How about you feel like shit over here?" he asks gently, patting the space next to him.

"No thanks," Lydia murmurs. "I'm perfectly comfortable where I am."

"Lydia," he protests. "You're hiding. Under the table."

Lydia blinks heavily at him. "I need another pill."

Stiles resists the urge to pull her out by her wrists. "You'll fall asleep."

"I don't care," she snaps.

Kira's leaning against the bottom of the couch, looking politely in the opposite direction like she can't hear everything they're saying.

"Lydia," he says firmly. "I'm not putting a movie on until you get out. So we can watch every Nicholas Sparks adaption ever made, or we can sit here and see how stubborn you really are."

"Fine," she hisses, and crawls out from under the table. "You suck, Stiles."

"Hey." Stiles grasps her lightly by the wrist and pulls so she's up against his side. "Be mad at me," he whispers in her ear. "I can take it. You be as mad as you need to be. But don't hide from me."

Lydia's eyes widen and she nods faintly. "Okay."

"So," Kira says brightly. "Have we decided on a movie?"

From the couch there is a loud groan and Scott rolls over on his side. "Not The Notebook," he sighs sleepily. "Anything but The Notebook."

xxx

The thing is, to Scott, feelings are visceral. Anxiety smells like burnt toast, like smoke, thick in his throat. Sadness smells like saltwater, the beach on a stormy day.

When he wakes up he thinks it's to fire and rain. But when he opens his eyes and looks clearly, it's Lydia and Stiles, curled up in a nest of blankets on the floor. They look beautiful, and tragic.

What happened to the boy with the buzzed head and a hopeless crush, and a teenage goddess with a heart of stone?

Who are they, now?

Scott bends down and presses his nose to the top of Kira's head, tries to drown the smell in her jasmine and rose scented hair.

Guilt smells sour, like something you left out in the sun to rot.

xxx

The doorbell rings again sometime in the afternoon. She'd convinced Stiles to give her another little white pill, and is curled up on her side, her feet in Stile's lap. He has his large hands wrapped around her ankles, like he's trying to keep her from floating away.

"I'll get it," Scott mutters, peeling himself off the couch.

He hasn't looked at her since he woke up and found them on the floor. She wonders if he thinks of her differently now. If he thinks she's disgusting, or weak.

Scott has a short conversation with whoever is at the door before coming back to the living room.

"Um," he says quietly, looking down at his shoes. "Derek wants to talk to you."

"Why?" Lydia whispers.

"I can tell him to come back later," Scott offers.

"Don't bother," she says, getting off the floor. "He'll just keep coming back like the creep he is."

Scott winces slightly and steps around her, carefully avoiding brushing her shoulder. Derek's sitting on the top step of the porch stairs, posing like a model in his leather jacket and aviators.

"So," Derek says, "you really think I'm creepy? Still?"

Lydia crosses her arms and sinks down on the step next to him. "Your tendency to lurk is not your most endearing quality."

Derek shrugs. "Just wanted to see how you were," he says. "I can leave."

"Oh," she says softly.

Derek slides his sunglasses off his nose and fixes her with a stare that makes her shiver. "So how are you?"

"Fine," she whispers, picking at the seam of her blue cashmere pullover.

He wrinkles his nose. "Are you on something?"

"Excuse me?"

"Pharmaceuticals, Lydia."

Her mouth parts in surprise. "You can smell that?"

"You smell like chemicals. And your heart rate is lower than it usually is."

"Well look at you, better than a drug test. Since when do you care about me, anyway?"

He blinks, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. "You think I don't care about you?"

She raises a sharp eyebrow at him. "You tried to kill me once."

Derek bows his head. "And you saved my life."

"So what, you owe me?"

Derek sighs and leans back on his elbows. "When a wolf is hurt, the rest of the pack surrounds it, to give it comfort, to care for it. It's instinct."

Lydia stiffens. "I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can," Derek says softly. "But you don't have to."

She sighs. "I don't want anyone to think that..."

"That you're weak? That you're a liability?"

Her throat tightens and she has to turn away.

"Lydia." Derek's hand on her shoulder is warm and solid. "You don't have anything to be ashamed of."

"I know that," she snaps.

"Do you?"

She presses her forehead to her knees and Derek's thumb slides back and forth over her shoulder.

"They love you," he says. "Let them take care of you. They want to."

"Hey, Derek?"

"Yeah."

She glances sideways at him. "Sit here a little longer with me?"

Derek nods curtly, his hand firm on her shoulder. "Sure, Lydia."

xxx

She finally gets Scott alone that night, in her kitchen, while Stiles is at the front door paying the pizza guy and Kira is on the phone with her parents asking if she can sleep over.

"Hey Lydia," Scott mumbles, reaching up to take a stack of plates out of a cabinet. It still unnerves her, the way he knows it's her without having to turn around.

"McCall," she says sharply, crossing her arms over her chest.

He puts the plates down, fingertips gripping the counter. The muscles in his back are tightened, his tee shirt all bunched up.

"Are you just going to avoid me forever?" she demands.

"I'm not avoiding you."

"You won't even _look_ at me."

"Lydia-"

"Are you-are you mad at me?" Her voice breaks and she hates herself for feeling this way, like there's something wrong with her, something dark and twisty and _bad_.

Scott turns around slowly, his big puppy dog eyes darkening. "Lydia, why would I be mad at you? It wasn't your fault."

"Then why won't you look at me?" She has to cover her face to avoid the humiliation of asking _Scott McCall_ to notice her.

"Oh, Lydia." Warm arms come around her and she squeezes her eyes shut, leaning into Scott's chest.

"I'm sorry," Lydia whispers.

"Hey." Scott's voice is firm and steady. "Don't you _ever_ apologize for this. Okay? This is not your fault, it's my fault-"

"What?" she asks. "Scott, you weren't even there-"

"It doesn't matter, I should have been there. After Allison I promised myself...I promised myself I would never let you get hurt again."

Lydia sighs. "Sometimes I feel like I don't know how to do this without her."

Scott rubs absentminded circles on her back. "Yeah, me too. But we'll figure it out."

She tilts her head up to look at him. Scott, the boy Peter turned. Like her.

"Don't feel guilty," she says quietly. "This wasn't...for you it started with Peter. But my grandmother was like me. I've always carried that potential. Maybe it was inevitable."

Scott inhales sharply. "Lydia."

"It's okay, Scott. It's...it's right. This is the way things are supposed to be. I...have you, and Stiles, and I know that you'll always be there, so don't...don't feel guilty, okay?"

Scott's crying. "I love you, Lydia."

She's been numb all day but there's a painfully full ache in her chest now, like she might fall apart at any moment. She holds onto Scott, his tears falling on her hair, his warm skin on her cheek.

"I know Scott," she murmurs. "I love you too."

When Stiles comes into the kitchen with the pizzas he finds her and Scott slow dancing around the island, sobbing into each other's shoulders. 


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: That's right, I finally finished this! Happy reading ;)**

Lydia disappears from the living room after they've finished the pizza and put on another movie, and comes back with a bottle of white wine in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

"Lydia," Stiles says sharply.

Lydia blinks innocently at him and sets the bottles on the coffee table. "Stiles."

"What are you doing?" This is so Lydia, acting like everything's fine, like she wasn't attacked last night, like she didn't cry in his arms and hold onto him like she was drowning.

"Being a good host," she says, like it's obvious. "Help me get glasses."

She turns around to go to the kitchen and Stiles follows her, cataloging everything he knows is in her system: one milligram of alprazolam, amoxicillin, one slice of pizza with all the grease blotted off, the cheese shredded with her fingers and left on the plate.

"I don't think you're supposed to drink when you're on antibiotics."

Lydia opens a cabinet and gives him a pointed glance. "Glasses," she says stubbornly.

He glares at her but follows her orders because she's Lydia and he can't ever say no to her apparently, pulling down four glass tumblers from the top shelf.

"Don't look at me like that," she snaps.

"Look at you like what?" he exclaims, exasperated, trying to carry four glasses at once back to the living room without dropping them.

"Like I'm a child," she huffs.

"I'm not looking at you like that," he says defensively.

"Yes you are!"

Scott and Kira are both sitting meekly on the couch, looking mildly horrified.

"Alright, enough fighting in front of the kids, _honey_ ," he says, his voice horrible and thick with sarcasm.

Lydia blinks and then suddenly she's laughing, a little unhinged, and he steps forward, pulling her into his body and she folds right into him.

"Hey," he murmurs, and just breathes with her, his arms wrapping around her and cradling her against his chest. "You don't have to pretend for us, okay?"

She drops, her weight falling against him and he tightens his arms around her to keep her upright.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay." He cups the back of her head, and says a silent prayer of gratitude to any deity that may be listening for returning her to him, for not pulling her out of his life entirely. He loves Lydia no matter how many pieces she's been broken into.

And then he prays that he'll be able to put the pieces back together.

xxx

Scott and Kira are assigned one of the Martin's guest rooms for the night, after she and Lydia have had two full glasses of wine each and Scott and Stiles put a significant dent in the whiskey, after Lydia's eyes fall shut and she gets carried upstairs by Stiles.

"I'm just gonna..." Kira blushes and points across the room to the en suit bathroom, her overnight bag clutched in her hands.

"Yeah," he says, and tries to give her a warm smile. It feels harder than it should be.

He waits on the bed, stripped down to his boxers, head in his hands. Flashes of the past twenty-four hours slam into him: Lydia, bloody and pale in her dirty silk dress, Stiles practically vibrating with fear in the hospital waiting room, Derek's eyes cold with suppressed rage in early morning sunlight.

The words the man had whispered in Lydia's ear right before she passed out, the memory washing out to black as she lost consciousness.

He thinks about Allison, what she would say if she were here, what she would do: not cry, he thinks, not tell him it was okay. She wouldn't try to make him feel better, pretend it wasn't his fault; no, she would make a plan and _fix_ it.

Allison would want vengeance. Allison would want blood.

And then he's holding her again, copper sharp in his nose and his mouth like pennies, her blank eyes staring up at him and seeing nothing-

"Scott?" Kira's kneeling in front of him and he can tell by the look on her face that she's said his name more than once. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he lies, moving off the bed and around Kira without touching her. "I just need some water."

In the bathroom he runs the water as cold as it'll get and dunks his head under the faucet, shakes and shakes like he's a dog trying to dry itself, until the guilt in his stomach doesn't feel like it's trying to kill him, until he can breathe without smelling blood.

In the bedroom the lights have been turned off, Kira's in bed under the covers.

"Hey," he says softly so he doesn't surprise her, crossing the room and lifting the covers to slide into the bed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she whispers.

"Not really."

"Okay." He doesn't expect her to push him or argue, because that's not Kira. She doesn't fight him like Allison did, doesn't send his head spinning in circles like Lydia does sometimes.

Kira's just there, takes whatever he has to offer, even when it's nothing, and guilt surges through him.

"Kira." He walks his fingers across the mattress until they connect with her wrist. "Just-c'mere."

He pulls lightly on her arm and she rolls into him, one leg flopping over his. She's wearing the thinnest tank top and little boxer shorts, and even in the dark he can see her eyes, wide open, lips parted like a kiss.

He leans down into it, feels her surprised little gasp when he captures her mouth with his. He feels her go boneless against him, soft soft skin and silky hair against his cheek.

He slides one hand up her back, walks his fingers up her vertebra, her skin cool against his palm. Perfect white skin, whole, spared of bullets and arrows. Her body is warm with life and she doesn't smell like metal or salt, she smells like flowers and something a little musky too.

Her tongue licks into his mouth and he moves his hand up to the back of her neck, a slow caress, around under her jaw and her pulse is pounding insistently under the pads of his fingertips, because she's alive and safe, whole, and Lydia is broken and Allison is rotting in the dirt-

"Scott." Kira pulls her mouth away; her hands are cupping his face and she looks almost absurdly worried.

"What?" He blinks, his vision is strangely blurry and he realizes that Kira's face is wet and her fingers are slick on his face.

"Scott, you're crying."

He pulls his hand away from and wipes curiously at his cheeks. She's right, he was crying and he didn't even know it.

"I'm sorry," he stutters, feeling a surge of shame, he can't even kiss his girlfriend without freaking out. "I'm so sorry, it's not you, I promise, I'm so sorry."

He's crying again, this is horrible, but Kira just sighs and pulls him against her so his face is pressed into the hollow of her throat.

"It's okay," she murmurs. "It's okay to be upset."

He has to fist the sheets in his hands, choking on a sob because he's just so _tired_ of this, of losing, watching the people he loves get hurt over and over again.

"Breathe," Kira says, her voice light and calm, like he's not falling apart. "It's okay. Breathe, Scott."

He sucks in a breath, exhales against her skin.

Kira's hand runs up and down his back. "I'm here. Everyone's okay."

"Lydia-"

"Will be okay. Just breathe Scott."

So he does, in and out, feeling her underneath him, mirroring his actions, until he exhales into sleep.

xxx

Lydia knows she should fall right asleep that night, considering that alcohol is a depressant and she has little white pills to help the process along, but she doesn't.

She lies in bed next to Stiles, who's valiantly attempting to stay up with her, his hand sweeping up and down her side in a manner she supposes is supposed to be soothing but is just serving to rile her up.

"What can I do?" he asks, his voice thick with whiskey. "I'll do anything Lydia, just tell me what to do."

What comes out of her mouth is honest if not at all planned. "I haven't had sex with anyone since Aiden."

"Uh-okay?" he says hesitantly.

"I couldn't," she confesses. "Not after Boyd."

Stiles nods in the darkness, his hand settling over the dip in her waist. "Yeah, I get that."

"I promised myself," she whispers. "I promised myself that the next person I was with-that I'd wait until it someone worth it. Someone good."

"Oh Lydia," he whispers.

"I can still feel him," she whisper-gasps. "I can feel him all over me Stiles, I can feel it where he touched me and what-what he _did_ to me-"

Stiles surges forward suddenly, pushing her over so she's flat on her back, knees bracketing her hips and his fingers twining around hers.

"Where are you?" he says, demands really, an intensity in his eyes she doesn't recognize.

Lydia swallows hard. "Home. In my room. In my bed."

"And who are you with?"

She feels captured, his eyes boring down at her but it's good, it grounds her. "I'm with you."

He bends down a bit so their foreheads are touching. "Tell me what you feel."

"Um..." she breathes shallowly, feeling overwhelmed and strangely, semi-aroused. "You. Your knees against my hips." She flexes her fingers. "Your hands. Your face."

"That's right," he murmurs. "It's just you and me. Okay? He's gone, Lydia."

"Stiles." Her voice cracks, there's something surging inside her, raw and desperate.

"Tell me what you need." He's spread out over her, holding his weight on his elbows and knees so she can breathe, because he'd never hurt her, not Stiles.

"Kiss me." It comes out got and desperate but she doesn't care, she needs to get the bad out of her, needs Stiles to replace it with something good.

"Lydia," he says hesitantly, like its's a trick, like he doesn't think it's what she really wants.

"Please. I don't want-I need you to make it better, please Stiles, make it go away, make him go away-"

He cuts her off with a soft press of lips against hers, so gentle. She exhales in relief, kisses him back, parting her lips to slide his tongue into his mouth and it's so easy, to let her legs fall open, to let him sink into her hips and roll her body up against him-

"Wait." Stiles pulls away, breathing hard. "Wait, Lydia."

"What's wrong?" she breathes, mourning the loss of his lips.

"We can't- we can't do this."

She curls her hand around his neck to pull him back down. "Sure we can."

"Lydia, I don't think this is a good idea-"

"It's fine, relax, I want this-"

"No you don't!" He rolls off her, and he looks _mad_.

She curls into herself defensively, feeling dark and dirty. "I just told you I wanted it," she says flatly.

He makes a frustrated sound, pushes his fingers through his hair. "I don't think you get to judge what you want right now," he snaps.

"Why are you _yelling_ at me?"

"I'm not yelling at you," he says, looking horrified. "I'm trying to stop you from making a huge mistake."

She curls her knees to her chest, vulnerable and raw. "You would never be a mistake," she whispers.

"God," Stiles groans. "Why are you making this so hard for me?"

" _I'm_ making this hard?"

Stiles huffs. "One, I'm just going to ignore that little entendre, two, yes, you are making it very hard to be the good guy and not like, completely take advantage of you-"

"You wouldn't be taking advantage of me."

"Lydia, somebody _raped_ you. Do you get that? I'm not going to fuck you so you can pretend it never happened, so you can erase it and act like everything's fine, okay? I'm not doing that to you."

"Oh," she says, and starts to cry, because he saw right through her, because he's Stiles, and always sees her.

"Oh fuck, I am so sorry." Stiles looks sick. "I'm so sorry Lydia, I'm the worst friend in the entire world, I cannot believe I just said that to you, seriously, you should hit me or something, I totally deserve it-"

"Just hug me, you idiot!" she whines, and Stiles wastes no time wrapping his long arms around her and crushing her to his chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, over and over again, rocking her like she's a child. It feels good, she shuts her eyes and lets herself be soothed by the repetitive motion.

"You're not a bad friend," she says when she stops crying.

Stiles manages to huff out a laugh. "Thanks."

She pulls back enough so she can see his face. Her beautiful boy, who'd do anything but hurt her. And remembers her promise to herself, to wait for someone good.

"I want you," she blurts out, watching Stiles' eyes get huge and round.

"I want you too," he says hoarsely. "But-but not like this. Okay?"

"Okay," she agrees. "But-"

"When you're ready." Stiles' voice is shaking a little, like he's nervous.

"I don't know when that'll be," she admits.

He drops a kiss on the top of her head. "I've been waiting for you since I was eight. I can wait a little longer."

xxx

Lydia strolls into school Monday morning in a clean floral print dress, her hair perfectly curled and lips painted red, like everything's totally normal, and strides right across the hallway to where Stiles is standing up against the lockers with Scott.

And then Lydia plants a kiss smack on Stiles' mouth, which is decidedly _not_ normal, while Scott splutters next to him.

"Uh-hi?" Stiles says, like an idiot, because it apparently takes about three seconds for Lydia's lips to liquefy his brain.

"Hi," Lydia says calmly, looking a little amused.

"What-what're you doing?"

Lydia smiles and it's like everything goes white around her, all he can see is her: a strawberry blond angle in four inch heels. "I'm waiting for my someone good."

xxx

Scott's in the hallway halfway to Econ when he hears his own name echoing in his ear. He whips around but he can't see his friend, but then the voice says, _outside Scott_ , and the voice resolves into a familiar tone.

Derek's waiting for him in the parking lot, leaning up against the Camero. He's wearing a pair of aviators and his leather jacket and Scott remembers when Derek Hale was enough to make him want to shit himself in fear. But all he sees now is the guy who helped him when he didn't have to, the guy who came back to Beacon Hills for his sister and stayed for Scott.

Derek takes his backpack from him and throws it into the backseat. "Come on."

Scott slides into the passenger seat; watches Derek shift into drive and peel the car onto the street. Scott's quiet while Derek drives because he's finally getting that asking question is a waste of energy, Derek will tell Scott what he wants, when he wants to, whether Scott like it or not.

He trusts Derek, now, he guesses. Enough to cut school for him with no explaination.

Derek drives until they get to an old warehouse at the edge of the town line. "Come on," he says. There's a pleased little smile on his face that makes Scott feel extremely wary but he dutifully follows him out of the car and through the rusting warehouse door.

It's empty, with the exception of a single chair with someone tied to it and then the light shifts and Scott looks at Derek in shock. It's the man from Lydia's memory, gagged and pale, a cut on his forehead trailing blood.

"What?" Derek says casually. "You think I don't know how to find a witch?"

Scott scrubs his face. "No, I just-I don't really have a game plan here, man."

Derek snorts. "I didn't get a witch to use a tracking spell to catch him just for you to let him go, Scott."

Scott watches the man watch him, his eyes so big he can see the whites all around, like a wild horse. The rancid smell of fear in his nose.

"You think I should kill him," Scott says quietly.

Derek gives him a stern look. "You're an alpha. Protecting the pack is your first priority."

"I _know_ that," he says sullenly. "I just hadn't planned on killing someone before taking my chem test, okay?"

"Fine, I'll do it then," Derek says easily, grinning when the man lets out an aborted whine through his gag.

"No, just wait." Scott grips Derek's arm and winces when Derek gives him the _did you really just do that_ face.

"Scott-"

"He raped Lydia because of me," Scott says; but he's not looking at Derek, he's looking at the man. "To hurt the pack. To hurt me. Death would be too easy."

He glances back at Derek. "Do you understand?"

Derek looks delighted. "Yeah Scott, I think I get it." He tosses the keys to the Camero at Scott. "Go take your test."

"For real?"

"Yeah, I got this."

"Dude, you're letting me take your car?"

Derek's eyeing the man like a cat about to catch a bird. "I'm gonna be here for awhile."

"Okay. Just one second." Scott walks up to the man, whose chest heaves with sharp breathes as he approaches. Scott kneels down so he's level with him, the man who hurt one of his best friends in Scott's name.

"I'm sparing your life today," he says quietly. "Nod if you understand."

The man's head jerks.

"I'm not doing this to show you mercy. When he's done with you-" Scott tilts his head back to indicate Derek "- you're going to wish I had killed you. And if you ever come back to Beacon Hills, if you ever go after my pack again, I will."

And then Scott turns on his heel and walks away, the Camero's keys cold in his hand, watching Derek cross the warehouse out of the corner of his eye to pick up a serrated knife.

Scott walks back out into the sunlight and unlocks the car, hauls himself into the driver's seat and sits there until he hears the man start to scream, and then he carefully reverses out of the parking spot and drives back to school.

xxx

Stiles catches her by the wrist when they get out of Econ, pulling her toward him against the tide of bodies. "Come on," he says, leading her towards the entrance to the school. "I got a text from Scott."

"And?" she asks, impatient and breathless, she has to take huge steps to keep up with Stiles' loping walk.

"I dunno, he just said that Derek showed up and-"

"Derek?"

"Yeah, I know."

They push through the school doors in time to see Scott swing the Camero into a parking spot.

"Oh my god, he let Scott drive his Camero? Seriously?" Stiles is dripping with envy.

"Hey!" Scott jogs over to them, his backpack dangling by one strap. He reaches out and curls one of his hands over Lydia's. "So um, Derek found him. The guy who attacked you."

"He- _what_?" she gasps.

"Yeah, he like, found a witch I guess? I don't know, anyway, he found him and it's um, it's okay now."

"Okay," Stiles says suspiciously.

"Yeah, Derek's um, he's taking care of it."

Stiles' eyebrows fly up towards his hairline. "Taking care of it?" He draws a finger across his throat. "That kind of taking care of it."

Scott squirms. "Not exactly."

Stiles squints at him. "How not exactly?"

"Can we talk about the details later?" Scott hisses, and catches Lydia right as her vision starts to black out.

"Lydia!" Stiles exclaims, helping Scott take her weight and sitting down on the pavement with her.

"I'm fine," she breathes. "Just surprised. I thought- I thought he was gone. I thought he got away."

Scott's hand is warm on her shoulder. "He's never going to hurt you now, okay? He can't hurt anyone anymore."

Lydia lifts her head, suddenly worried. "Scott, what did you do?"

He shakes his head. "Lydia it's okay, trust me."

"You didn't kill him," Stiles says quietly, his hands wrapped around her own.

"I left him alone with Derek and a knife," Scott says. "I didn't have to."

Lydia leans forward on her knees and hugs Scott. "Thank you," she whispers.

"Don't." Scott sounds a little broken. "Please don't thank me."

"You did the right thing," Stiles says, and leans in so Lydia's in the middle of a three-way hug. "Being tortured by Derek Hale is better than death."

"We really have to stop being so morbid," Lydia says lightly, and feels both boys choke back laughter.

Scott and Stiles both haul her up, a bell rings and they turn back towards school.

"Oh no, come on, we're going to be late for chem," she says worriedly, and reaches down to collect their hands.

Scott groans. "I'm gonna fail."

"You're not gonna fail," she reassures him. "We're all going to do fine."

"Hey," Stiles says, falling into an easy pace with her and Scott as they head for the front doors. "You sure you're okay?"

She glances between them; Scott, her alpha, her protector, her link to Allison; and Stiles, her anchor, her best friend, the boy who runs with wolves.

"No," she says softly, and tightens her fingers around their hands. "But I will be." 


End file.
